Just Creepy: Scary Stories - Hunting & Fishing Horror Stories: Terrifying Tales from the Wilderness

Episode Date: December 15, 2023

Try Magic Mind today and go to ► https://www.magicmind.com/justcreepy And get up to 50% off your Magic Mind subscription for the next 10 days with my code: JUSTCREEPY20 These are 8 Hunting & Fishing Horror Stories: Terrifying Tales from the Wilderness Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►All Stories sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:21:07 Story 2 00:24:57 Story 3 00:34:33 Story 4 00:40:53 Story 5 00:45:50 Story 6 00:50:40 Story 7 00:58:23 Story 8 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #deepwoods #hunting #fishing #forest 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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I believe there's something the government is hiding from us, something in the national and state forests. I believe I've seen exactly the abominations that they hide. It's not as safe in the woods, at least certain parts, as they say. If you find yourselves in the worst parts, you might be hunted. This is my story. When I graduated high school, I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to do. Out of school, I decided to take a break and figure life out for a while. This gave me plenty of free time to go out and do what I loved most, which was hunting. I grew up high. hunting and fishing my whole life, starting at a very young age. I would follow my father into the woods with a rifle taller than I was, fighting through the pine boughs as they whipped back at me

from my father pushing through them. I've seen countless animals in the wild, and I've been taught what to look for, listen for, and smell for. I grew up in the woods. It's second nature to me. My house abuts a state forest an hour and a half away from the White Mountain National Forest. The forest surrounds a bald mountain with an abandoned fire tower at the top. Because of my property's location to the forest, the wildlife around my house was always plentiful. Most of the time when I wanted to go hunting, I would just step out the back and hunt on the old logging roads that intersected the forest like a giant cobweb. I knew the region well, and I was always wary of staying off the protected land, as it was illegal to hunt on. I didn't want to risk forfeiting my greatest pastime.

I always tended to stay away from the border, though. It always gave off a weird aura, like there was a dark haze staring right at the property line, looking into the forest. It always seemed like it would swallow you up. The canopy seemed thicker due to its old growth. The trees immense and gnarled, dotted with disease and fungus, making it so the light barely made it through the dense leaf layers,

casting discolored shadows that danced and crept along the forest floor. The brush was entangled within itself like barbed wire. Not only was it physically impregnable, but visually, it was like looking at a wall. All you could see was a few feet into the undergrowth, only able to pick up glimpses of movement, never really able to focus on what you might have seen. But no matter how thick it was, I always felt like something was watching me from there. I never felt at ease whenever I was within eyesight of that forest. Now, deer season up here starts in the late fall for muzzleloader and later for rifle. Still being earlier in the season, I had a muzzleloader to go out with.

For those who don't know what a muzzleloader is, it's basically a musket. You have to ramrod powder and ball down the barrel, then you have to set a primer in the breach to be able to set off the gun. This was all I carried into the woods. Traveling light was always a good bet, especially if you're dragging a deadweight behind you. It was the first big snowfall of the year, and with it comes a nice change of pace. Because of the fresh snow, you can track deer very easily. All you had to do was come across some tracks.

I was taught the best way to go about this was to cover as much ground as possible. I hopped into my car that day, hitting the back roads. I was slow rolling with my window down so that my breath wouldn't fog up the glass. I kept an eye out for any disturbances in the freshly fallen snow. I drove for hours looking for tracks, and I didn't see any. I figured all the deer had bedded down. Perhaps the weather made them not want to move as much. I was about to call it quits when I turned down the last road on my usual route.

There, in the snow, crossing the road, were deer tracks. Finally, I thought. I got out of my car to investigate further. The tracks were spread out and left a deep impression, meaning it was a decently sized deer, likely a buck. I followed the tracks to the edge of the road and looked where they wandered off to. I realized they were going the wrong way, straight into the state forest. Now, since this wasn't the main entrance to the forest, there were no signs,

except for one old, tattered, washed-out posted sign, barely visible. Usually, I would have passed up the opportunity, but this season had just been a bust. I had several game cameras out in my usual spots with no signs of life, and I hadn't seen any other signs until that day. Seeing this fresh sign made me mull over my options. I really wanted a chance at this deer. In my naivity, I thought of excuses I could tell anyone who confronted me, with a few cheap explanations concocted. I decided to give it a shot. I would park on the other side of the road, not to mention it was a very rural road.

should be back here anyway. I told myself it was decided then. I pulled off to the side of the road and prepared to go out and track this deer. I got out, put on my camouflage, and sprayed myself down with scent neutralizer. If I happened to come up wind, my scent would be masked. I also dipped a rag in some dough estrus, and had it tied up to my boot so I could drag it behind me. I would leave a scent of my own that no self-respecting buck and rut could resist. I then grabbed my muzzleloader, put in a primer, and stuffed a few extra rounds of powder and primers into my pocket. I headed out and started to track this deer, walking extremely quietly. Every step was a calculated one. The less noise, the better.

As I watched the ground, I noticed it was starting to snow again. You could hear the snow crackling as it landed, the edge of my vision being washed out by the flakes. Luckily, it wasn't enough to mask the tracks I was following, but it was just enough to hinder my senses. I figured this would allow me to close the distance on the deer even further. The perfect storm was coming together. The environment was perfect to hunt. I felt in my element. I started down the tracks once more, following the trail deeper into the bush, enveloped in the mindset of a hunter. Stopping, listening, looking. Then a step forward, rinse, and repeat. As I went along the track,

I noticed something. The deer seemed to be speeding up. The tracks became elongated. The well-defined hoof prints started to drag into the snow, strides becoming farther and faster, then less carefully placed in lieu of speed. It started as a trot, then developed into a full-on bounding. If I had to guess, something may have spooked it, and I began to worry that I'd given myself away. I was upset. The snow around my collar melted as I got red in the face. I needed to sit for a moment, think of how I messed up this hunt. I picked a tree and sat against it so I could break up my silhouette. I sat there for a while, letting myself cool off. I replayed my walk into the woods, analyzing every little thing I did. The weather hadn't stopped, and soon I was covered in a dusting of snow. As I sat there, I began to

hear something. I strained my ears to listen over the snow that settled on my coat. The falling snow had a deafening silence to it, but I could definitely hear something, movement from my left, the faintest crunching of snow, and the snapping of frozen underbrush. Something was coming my way. My heart skipped a beat. I instantly started to sit up, probably a deer, probably the deer I'd been tracking. I was hoping it had circled back to get up wind, believing me to be a dup. I was hoping to be a dough from the rag I'd tied to my boot. The view I had from my spot wasn't the best. Several trees were in the way, but it was good enough to get a shot. I tried to stay as still as possible. Too much movement could spoil the hours I've been out. My anticipation was killing me.

I couldn't wait to see it. The second seemed like hours, anticipation shooting a jolt down my spine, making me sweat from the white curtain of snow that made up the edge of my vision. I could see branches starting to give glimpses of antlers. This deer was a prize. I could barely see anything, but I could already count at least eight points, standing high off the ground. I picked up and steadied my muzzle loader on my knee. I wanted to wait for it to come closer so I could make a more decisive shot. My heart pounded. I was raging with buck fever, adrenaline coursing through me as I waited. I was practically vibrating with excitement. It wandered closer and and closer into view, and with each step it came closer, I realized something. It was dragging

its back leg. It was already injured. I could hear it raking the ground with its leg, pulling leaves and debris along with it. Wait a minute, no, it wasn't its leg. My blood ran cold, stomach turning in knots. This thing wasn't a deer. In fact, I'd never seen anything like it. I wasn't sure what it was. My excitement turned into fear. It was like I turned into a scared little boy again, afraid of what might be under my bed. I could sense malicious energy coming off the thing. It wasn't right.

It couldn't be real. Whatever it was, it didn't seem of this earth. It was unholy, as if sent straight from hell to torment us. I froze up, my only hope being that the snow had fallen enough to blend my form into the landscape. I could now see it more clearly. It did have antlers, but it was no deer. Its back was to me, hunched over, and it was dragging something.

It was dragging the poor thing. It was dragging the thing that had brought me here in the first place. The body of the deer I believe I was tracking. It was eviscerated, gored, and slashed about. Ribs splintered and twisted. It was dragging it from its hind leg. Its other leg snapped and spayed about. The side of its head was completely caved in.

This deer hadn't just the end. died. It had died in anguish. I watched as this beast heaved the deer through the woods, leaving a trail of blood and bile as it went. It stood on a powerful yet thin frame, emaciated but strong. The tendons flexed under its skin as it walked. It was as if the skin was the only thing holding it together. Its spine and ribs were exposed in spots, like the flesh was torn from its body but never healed, perpetually rotten. You could see the shoulder blades and muscles contort as it pulled what remained of the deer along. Then, with one arm still on the deer, it wheeled about. It was grotesque, covered in patchy fur and flesh. Its claws were long

and dripped with flesh and blood. As my eyes followed the outline of its lean body, I took notice of its head. It didn't have a face. Rather, there was just a skull, none of which was recognizable. There was no skin left to it, just miscellaneous pieces of shredded, shrivelled flesh. It had no nose or ears, just holes where they used to be. The teeth were prehistoricly jagged and vicious. The eye sockets were so deep you could not see past the brow. The only reason I knew it had eyes was a small white glint off of them, from the little light that could make it through the overcast sky.

This abomination had no place on this planet. My fear turned to rage, watching it, I wanted it dead. I felt instinctively that it didn't belong in this world. I tightened my now frigid hands around my muzzle-loader. I contorted my body to look down the sights, and I took aim at this thing. I aimed right for the chest. I squeezed the trigger, and the black powder fizzled and exploded out the end of my barrel, the effect blocking my view for a moment.

When the smoke wafted away, I watched in terror. The thing rolled around on the ground, scratching and grabbing at its back and chest with its claws, leaving gashes and cuts through its exposed bone, tearing away at its own skin. It staggered up, writhing, then it screamed, making the trees drop the snow clinging to their branches. The scream was shrill and hollow, sounding like every dying animal at once. It horrified me. I could then see that my bullet had broken right through a rib, and I swear I could see through the hole the bullet bored into. I watched as the monster's head darted frantically, scanning its surroundings and snapping its jaws, saliva spilling from its snout.

Something in me thought this probably wasn't the first time it had been shot. It looked around crazed, trying to find its assailant. Then I heard something. It was smelling the air. After a few breaths, it stopped. It slowly craned its neck until it looked right at me. I watched its head as it looked down to my boots, my freaking rag. I'd forgotten all about it as I was observing this monster.

Now it felt like it was waiting for me to make the first move. It screamed again, opening its huge mouth, revealing rows of needle-like teeth and spitting blood as it did. I had been found. I sprang up. The snow that had once hit me burst as I turned and ran. I saw there was a dense pine thicket not too far from there, so I ran and ran as fast as I could. As I did, I heard it screaming from behind me. I then heard something smack through the branches above my head. I ducked just in time to see

the carcass of the deer spinning over my head. It had made contact with a tree to my right. I heard a sickening pop as the spine of the deer broke from the force of the impact. The creature screamed again. I could then feel the impacts of its strides as it ran after me. My lungs were on fire as I pushed myself deep into the pine boughs, not caring about anything except wanting to get away from this thing. I could hear it crashing through the brush, the relentless pursuit echoing in my ears. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized it was gaining on me,

the adrenaline surging through my veins. Without a second thought, I ripped the rag from my boot and flung it as far away from me as possible. My feet carried me forward, desperately searching for a big enough tree to hide behind. I finally found refuge behind a massive tree, my back pressed firmly against its rough bark. Panic coursed through me as I fumbled with my muzzle loader,

hastily loading it with powder and a bullet, then slamming a new primer into the breach. The thicket around me seemed to explode with an eruption of snow and snapping tree limbs. My hands trembled, and I dropped my ramrod, not daring to make a sound. My eyes locked onto the creature as it bent over and licked the ground where my rag had landed.

It was clearly tracking me, getting closer with every step. Each footfall reverberated through the trees, and I could hear the eerie wheezing as it expelled air from its lungs. The creature came closer, its presence growing ever more menacing. It found my discarded rag and let out a deafening scream that sent shivers down my spine, the sound echoing relentlessly in my head. It thrashed through the surrounding area, clawing and digging in its furious pursuit. There was no doubt in my mind that nothing would stop it.

Panic set in as I weighed my limited options. Bullets had proven ineffective against this monstrosity, and it appeared insatiable. My only choices were to hide or run, but I couldn't afford to get turned around in this dense forest. I had to make it back to my own tracks, to the road, to my car, and then get the hell out of there. It was my only chance. As the creature continued to dredge through the snow, I lined up my shot, my heart pounding like a drum. I had to make this shot count. I aimed for its chest, as its head moved too swiftly and unpredictably. With trembling hands I squeezed the trigger and bolted from my cover, throwing my ramrod aside without a second thought. I backtracked through

the pines and brush, following my old footprints in a desperate attempt to a the relentless pursuit. My face and hands were soon cut up from the whipping branches, and my legs burned from the relentless sprint. I could hear it wailing behind me, the sound of it tearing at its own flesh as it pursued me with unrelenting determination. As I ran past the tree that had been splattered with the gore of a deer, a grim reminder of the horrors of this forest, I finally spotted the embankment leading to the road. My lungs were on fire, my throat parched from the dry winter air, but I pushed on, adrenaline fueling every step. I climbed the hill, my foot getting momentarily stuck in the snow, but I tore it free and reached my car, throwing myself

into the driver's seat with a frantic urgency. I fumbled for my keys, dropping them in my panic. I feared that at any moment I would be yanked from the car through a broken window. Finally, I managed to insert the keys into the ignition, and my car roared to life with a broken window. I feared that, hesitation. I glanced out the window, but the creature was nowhere in sight. Instead, a pair of fogged-up headlights approached, a green pickup truck with an emblem on the door. It was the game warden, out on his rounds. Still shaken from my ordeal, I struggled to find the right words. Great weather for tracking, I managed to mumble. He nodded, seemingly oblivious to the horrors I had just experienced. Oh yeah it is, isn't it? Well, be careful out there, and make sure to stay on that side of the road.

He pointed to the opposite side, his tone oddly casual. Absolutely, understood, I replied, my mind still reeling. He rolled up his window and continued down the road, leaving me frozen in my seat. Snow blew into my car, feeling like pinpricks against my face as I stared out past the road. I thought I saw it. A dark silhouette standing against the snow in the overgrowth. Its gaze never wavered, locked on to me as if trying to consume my very soul. Without hesitation, I floored the gas pedal, speeding home. I kept the wood stove stocked and the coffee brewed, unable to sleep until pure exhaustion

overcame me. Yet, even in my fitful slumber, I saw that terrible face haunting my dreams. It didn't end there. months later after the snow had melted my dog found a boot along the tree line miles away from where my terrifying encounter had occurred it was the same boot i had lost that day and it had somehow ended up back at my house all my possessions including my hat and my damaged gun had been thrown onto the wood line it was as if the creature was taunting me tormenting me playing with my fear i became terrified of hunting alone every time i looked at that forest, I could sense its presence, lurking in the shadows, ducking behind trees. Its abysmal eyes seemed to follow me everywhere my lights didn't reach. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was taunting me, trying to lure me back into the depths of the forest. Late at night, I would occasionally hear its piercing screams, the sound of it pacing just out of my sight, clacking its jaws.

I lived in constant fear of a horrific death, torn apart by something that should not exist. I began to wonder about the Game Warden's cryptic warning. It's too dangerous anyway. Did he know what was happening in those protected forests? Were they harboring creatures that defied the natural order? Perhaps the fire towers weren't just looking for fires. And the ranger stations weren't mere tourist traps. I couldn't help but believe that there were those who knew about these otherworldly beings and studied them in secret. I had come to realize that we were not

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When I was young, my dad had a ritual of taking me fishing at dawn. It didn't matter if I was a whiny five-year-old. He had a special way of calming me down. He'd hand me a donut on a fishing line, and I'd be entranced, watching the sugary treat Bob on the water's surface. It surprises me that I still vividly remember those moments, given that one particular fishing trip turned into a terrifying experience for a child of my age, perhaps even for a six-year-old. Our fishing day began early in the morning when the world outside was still

draped in darkness. My dad meticulously packed all our fishing gear, and we headed out to the pier. The pier was conveniently located right outside a hotel, and it was my dad's favorite spot, because it was usually free from the crowds that sometimes disrupted the peaceful ambiance of fishing. While we usually encountered one or two early risers like us, this time was different. There were quite a few people present, four or five, I reckon, who I assumed were college kids. They were outside laughing and chatting, probably fueled by some liquid courage, and they seemed to be enjoying the serene moment just as much as we were. What transpired later that morning was not my dad's wisest decision,

but he assured me he'd be back in an instant. He needed to grab a hook quickly from the car, and he pointed out that the gutting knife was right there if I ran into any trouble. Looking back, I realized that it was far from ideal parenting, but at the time, I was a nervous kid who didn't know any better. As my dad left, the atmosphere grew more tense. The young adults were becoming rowdier, and I became vigilant, my eyes darting between them and the exit. Then, suddenly, the distant wail of an ambulance siren pierced the air. One of the guys turned to look behind him and callously said,

Your dad just got run over by a truck. The girl with them chastised him saying, Stop it, you're so bad, while another guy erupted into laughter, as if it were the funniest joke ever told. I was just a very anxious five- or six-year-old, and I didn't know how to react. I was torn between running to find my dad

with the only exit right by these strangers, or grabbing the nearby knife, just in case they posed a threat. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, although in reality only a few minutes had passed. The tension hung in the air like a heavy cloud. Relief washed over me when I finally spotted my dad walking back towards me. I could have burst into tears right then and there.

My dad approached, still holding the bloodied gutting knife he had used earlier on a fish. He asked me what was wrong, concern etched across his face. With trembling words, I recounted what the man had told me about him being run over. my dad's knuckles tightened around the knife, now stained with fish guts, as he approached the group of young adults. He confronted them, demanding, what the hell did you say to my daughter? The man who had spoken to me was now visibly panicked, and the others with him seemed to sober up instantly. In a chorus of nervous apologies, they stammered, We don't want any trouble. Without a second thought, they hurriedly gathered their cooler and practically ran away.

In hindsight, I should have been more worried about my dad's reaction, not knowing if he might actually harm those young adults. However, in that moment, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of safety and gratitude. I truly believed I was the luckiest and safest kid in the world, with a dad who would go to great lengths to protect me. The hills near my home have always held a special place in my heart, a rugged wilderness where I spent years traversing through the woods, learning every ridge and valley by heart. But after the bizarre event that unfolded two falls ago, when I was out hunting alone, I don't know if I'll ever see those familiar mountains the same way again.

I had just turned 50 at the time, but I was still in good enough shape to handle long hikes at high elevations. It was early one Saturday morning in October when I headed out for a remote valley where I knew I could usually bag an elk that time of year. The journey was only about a four-mile trek from the dirt, road where I parked my truck. As I hiked along, I couldn't help but relish the stunning scenery and the crisp fresh air. After a couple of hours of hiking, I reached the valley

and found a perfect vantage point to sit quietly and watch for any signs of movement. Around noon, my patience paid off as I spotted a decent-sized bull elk grazing near a stream. I lined up my shot carefully and took it. The animal went down instantly and thankfully painlessly. With that task accomplished, I made my way down to field dress the elk. It took a while to break down the carcass, and by the time I had it prepped and ready to carry back, it was late afternoon. I loaded up my pack with some meat and antlers, hoisting the rest onto my shoulders. Now came the tedious part, hauling the massive thing out through the mountains back to my truck.

Despite the strain on my joints, I didn't mind the hard work. I followed the valley downstream, winding my way up over ridges towards home. The sun gradually sank towards the peaks as I hiked, and I expected to reach the dirt road in another hour or so. However, the terrain soon began to look unfamiliar, and the path I was following seemed to peter out. I must have wandered off course a bit in the dense woods, but I wasn't too worried at first. I chose a new direction, heading downhill where I hoped the road was. but after another thirty minutes with no sight of the road or familiar landmarks, I started to feel uneasy.

The shadows grew long, and the temperature dropped as I stopped to get my bearings, finally letting go of the elk. It had become too much for me to handle, as I didn't expect the journey back to take so long. I now had no idea which direction I had come from, and which way I needed to go. Every outcropping and tree looked identical,

as if the mountains had subtly shifted while I wasn't paying attention, I kept pressing onward, expecting to see the road and my truck just ahead around every bend. But the dusk settled into darkness, and still my surroundings remained foreign. A sense of surreal confusion set in. I had walked this area most of my life, yet now it was like an endless, ever-shifting maze. Exhausted from hauling the elk and hiking all day, I decided my only option was to keep moving and look for some sort of shelter. I trudged on through unfamiliar gullies and drainage

that seemed to double back or lead in circles. As I stopped to catch my breath, the silence of the night in the mountains felt heavy and ominous. I shook my head, telling myself that this was ridiculous, that I just needed some daylight to get my bearings again, but doubt and dread gnawed at me, telling me I was trapped in some bizarre spiral, doomed to wander lost forever.

I pushed on for one for one. what felt like hours in the cold darkness. Finally, I stumbled upon a small cave and collapsed inside. I was far too tired to continue. With my emergency kit, I managed to create a small fire before passing out from exhaustion. When I woke up, pale dawn light was glowing at the cave entrance. I expected to see unfamiliar terrain, but to my astonishment, I recognized exactly where I was. This cave was less than half a mile from the dirt road and my truck. Disoriented, I hurried outside. I covered the short distance to the road in under 20 minutes,

reaching my untouched truck filled with overwhelming relief. I drove home in a stunned days, worried about my wife Jenny, who must have been beside herself with worry, having been gone overnight when I had promised to return before dark. When I pulled up to the house and raced inside, calling her name, Jenny appeared confused, but also relieved. She asked if everything was all right. I stammered, trying to explain what had happened,

that I had somehow gotten lost in the woods and had to sleep in a cave overnight. But Jenny seemed perplexed. She explained that I had been gone for only a couple of hours. I looked at her, bewildered. Hun, you left just a couple of hours ago. Are you okay? Look, it's 8 a.m. right now. Remember, you left at 6 a.m. to get an early.

start. What? What do you mean? I couldn't believe it. Her smartphone showed yesterday's date, or rather today's date. That couldn't be right. Then I remembered that my truck radio displayed the date on its screen. Without a word, I rushed outside to check. Sure enough, it matched my wife's phone. I refused to accept it. I told myself I must have gotten the dates mixed up somehow, although that didn't explain my wife's belief that I had only been gone for a couple of hours. Just then, there was a knock at the door. I looked out the nearby window, and it was my neighbor, an avid hunter like myself. We often discussed our kills and outdoor activities.

When I answered the door, he said something that sent shivers down my spine. Hey there, saw you this morning, driving out with your elk in the truck window. But then you came back about two hours later. Did you forget something? Hope your wife's okay. He had just corroborated my wife's explanation without even being prompted. I once again stood there in shock. A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.

The meat I had kept in my pack would confirm that I had been out there, that I had indeed shot that elk, and that I had dragged it for hours. What I experienced did happen. I rushed back to my truck without a word, grabbed my pack, and tore it open. My heart pounded as I grasped for some rational, explanation. Had I somehow imagined the long lost night, it couldn't be. Every memory in vivid detail remained sharp. I wouldn't forget being lost in the woods, aching and exhausted, having dragged

that elk for hours. The meat in that pack may have vanished, but my sore muscles weren't a product of my imagination. None of it made sense. I went back inside and told them both I needed some rest. That's my story. All I know is that something is in those men. mountains, manipulating time and space for whatever reason. For a period I was trapped alone in a twisted night, and I'm just thankful it let me go. After that event, I changed my hunting grounds, and I never went back out there. Could you imagine returning to a place that might take you again? What if I'm trapped in that loop forever next time? Whatever it may be, I can't shake the feeling that I'm slowly losing my grip on reality. Before we go to the next scary story, I'm

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Elderly widow working at an aquarium, Tova forms an unlikely friendship with their crumudgeonly, Marcellus, whose remarkable intelligence leads her to a life-changing discovery. Watch remarkably bright creatures with your remarkable moms this Mother's Day weekend, only on Netflix May 8th. I had always been captivated by the allure of the great outdoors and the breathtaking beauty of nature. So, when I first heard about Yosen National Park during my upbringing, I knew deep down that I had to experience it for myself. With excitement coursing through my veins, I meticulously packed my gear

and embarked on a hiking and fishing expedition to explore the park's crystal-clear streams, towering trees, and awe-inspiring scenery. Hours into my hike, I found myself immersed in the sights and sounds of the lush forest, relishing the tranquility it offered. However, as I continued along the trail, I began to sense that something was amiss. The familiar markers that had guided my journey seemed to vanish, and I couldn't discern any signs or indicators to retrace my steps. Panic gradually took hold of me as the realization settled in. I was lost. I attempted to backtrack, but the dense forest offered no clues, and the disorienting wilderness made it impossible to discern one direction from another. A growing sense of dread gnawed at my core. The forest appeared to close in around me, trees drawing nearer, casting eerie shadows and enveloping me in a shroud of darkness.

The babbling brook that had previously been my companion now faded into a distant murmur, leaving behind an unsettling silence that only amplified my fear. After what felt like an eternity of wandering, I stumbled upon a clearing in the woods. At its center stood an old weathered cabin. It appeared abandoned, with cobwebs clinging to the dusty furniture, and an unmistakable musty odor hanging. in the air. It was evident that no one had set foot in this cabin for quite some time. With trepidation, I decided to make camp inside the cabin for the night, hoping to regain my bearings and find my way

out of the forest come morning. I counted myself lucky to find a relatively dry spot and managed to start a fire in the fireplace. As the warmth of the flames enveloped me, a sense of relief washed over my anxious soul. However, as night descended upon the forest, my newfound sense of safety would prove fleeting. The silence was unnerving, and strange noises emanated from outside the cabin, faint but unmistakable, the sounds of something moving, walking around the cabin's perimeter, sent shivers down my spine. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, and I tried desperately to convince myself it was just an animal, but the immense fear in the pit of my stomach refused to be quelled. As the night wore on, the mysterious noises grew more frequent and pronounced. It was as though

an unseen presence was toying with me, playing mind games, and disrupting any hope of rest. Each time I believed the disturbances had ceased and tried to close my eyes, they would return, louder and more intense than before. Eventually, the noises ceased altogether, leaving me in an even more unsettling silence. My unease lingered, and I came to a difficult decision. I couldn't stay in the cabin any longer. I had to find my way out of this forest as soon as possible. Stepping outside, I spotted a figure in the distance among the trees. It loomed dark and tall, its gaze fixed upon me.

I froze, locking eyes with the figure, which then seemed to vanish into the forest. My heart raced as I sprinted in the opposite direction, desperate to escape this nightmare. Yet the forest felt alive all around me, as though it conspired to keep me trapped within its depths. More strange noises, more shadowy figures in the distance. I was living a waking nightmare. The night seemed endless, my body weary, but I pressed on. Finally, I stumbled upon a river and decided to follow it. It was my last hope, my beacon of salvation.

The river proved treacherous, its rocks slippery, and I was a river. I fell repeatedly, bruising my knees and scraping my hands, but I couldn't relent. I had to keep moving. After what felt like an eternity, I caught a glimpse of a faint light in the distance. Hope surged within me as I rushed toward it. As I drew nearer, I realized it was a campsite, with tents set up and the warm glow of a campfire. Gasping for breath, I stumbled into the camp, and the campers looked at me in astonishment. They were a group of three friends who had been exploring the park for days.

With empathy etched across their faces, they listened intently to my harrowing tale. Their concern was palpable, and they offered me a hot meal and a place to rest for the night. By the campfire's comforting warmth, the tension in my body began to dissipate, if only slightly. Grateful for their kindness and the safety of their company, I felt a glimmer of relief. The following morning, I joined their group, determined to find my way out of the forest. They were experienced hikers who knew the park well, and their guidance was invaluable. As we hiked for hours, the relief washed over me with every step, and we inched closer to the park's entrance.

Emerging from the forest, I looked back at the towering trees and dense undergrowth. The fear and uncertainty of the previous night seemed distant, like a fading dream, vanquished by the morning light. I thanked the group profusely for their assistance, and embarked on a long journey back home. As I drove away from Yosan National Park, my thoughts were filled with the strange occurrences of that fateful night. I couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister lurked within the forest. The memory of that night haunted me, plaguing my dreams. Yet despite the fear and uncertainty, I knew that I would return to Yosen National Park one day. The irresistible allure of its beauty and the magnetic pull of the wilderness were simply too strong to resist. Besides, I had to

retrieve my camping gear eventually. It was the early autumn of 1973 in East Texas, somewhere deep within the heart of the Big Thicket area, just north of Beaumont. The clock had struck late on a Friday night when my family and I finally arrived at a secluded hunting cabin nestled in the wilderness. The cabin was to be our home for the weekend, a place where my stepfather and uncle could pursue their passion for hunting, while the rest of us sought refuge in the tranquility of nature. I, being the curious teenager I was, had come along for the adventure. Our arrival had been delayed, as each of us had to finish our respective work obligations that Friday evening.

Consequently, it was well past 11 p.m. when we arrived at the cabin. The night had blanketed the world in an inky darkness, but a solitary light attached to a power pole offered a feeble glimmer of civilization. With a light misty rain beginning to fall, we hurried inside the cabin, grateful for its shelter. The cabin's interior was unremarkable, a simple rectangular shape with the main area in the middle, housing the kitchen and a small sitting area.

Bunk beds were placed at both ends of the cabin. My younger brother E and I chose the room on the right side where a set of bunk beds was conveniently located next to a window. Our parents selected the rooms at the opposite end of the cabin, and soon enough we all succumbed to the embrace of sleep. Around one in the morning, my brother's piercing scream shattered the stillness of the night. Startled, I bolted upright in my top bunk, frantically searching for the source of his terror.

E. had been yanked away from his bed, and now stood at the edge, fixated on the window. The window was large enough to be visible from both bunks, and as I looked in that direction, I caught a glimpse of movement beyond the glass, a silhouette, brown and furry. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to make sense of the unnerving sight. I swiftly retreated back under the covers of my bunk, only to be confronted by an even more more horrifying image. There, in the dim light filtering through the window, I came face to face with a monstrous creature. It had large, haunting eyes and a snarling, upturned face, its dangerous teeth bared in a menacing grimace. Terror seized me as I realized this beast

was staring directly at us. It quickly moved away from the window, but the memory of its malevolent visage was etched into my mind. I couldn't contain my fear, and soon my stepfather and uncle were at our door, their faces etched with concern. We could hear the creature outside, its unearthly scream sending shivers down our spines. The pole with the light began to shake violently, casting eerie shadows, and then it abruptly flickered and died. The cabin was plunged into darkness as the power went out. My uncle and stepfather wasted no time. They grabbed their rifles and ventured outside, believing it to be a bear. However, moments later they returned, locking and the door behind them. Their faces were ashen, and they did their best to calm us down.

We huddled together in the living area, my aunt desperately trying to convince us that it was just a bear, likely for the sake of us children. As I lay there, pretending to be asleep, I couldn't help but overhear my uncle whispering to my stepdad. There's no way that was a bear. Morning finally arrived, and we hastily packed our belongings, eager to leave. that dreadful place. One of the cars we had driven, a pinto, bore the evidence of an unsettling encounter. The right front corner panel was dented, as if something massive had pressed its weight upon it, and smudges marred the windshield, as if some monstrous entity had leaned in to peer at us from within the car. We ventured outside and found indistinct tracks in the mud, their outlines

blurred by the persistent rain. My brother and I followed the tracks to the back of the cabin, where we examined the area near the window. The cabin was perched on a slant, with one side significantly lower than the other, sloping down the hill toward the driveway. For any creature to have reached the window, it would have had to stand over eight feet tall, an astonishing height for a bear. My dad shook his head and muttered, If that was a bear, it had to have been colossal. With no desire to linger, we all piled into the cars and departed that eerie cabin in the woods. The journey home was marked by tense silence, the memory of that night's terror haunting our thoughts, leaving us all on edge, unable to shake the feeling that something otherworldly had crossed

our path that fateful night in the big thicket of East Texas. I had always dreamt of going on a fishing trip to the Florida Keys, so when my buddies invited me to join them on a weekend adventure, I jumped at the chance. We arrived at our rented house on the water's edge on a Friday evening, ready to spend the next two days chasing after some big fish. We were all incredibly amped up for the adventure that awaited us. The house was a charming old beachfront cottage, its peeling blue paint telling tales of countless summers past. It boasted a wraparound porch that faced the water,

and inside it had three small bedrooms, a cozy living room, and a fully equipped kitchen. As we stepped inside, we couldn't contain our excitement. But what really had us thrilled was the discovery that we had a dock in the backyard with a small motorboat tied to it, which was perfect for our fishing expedition. The first day unfolded seamlessly. We woke up early, geared up, and headed out to the ocean. Within just a few hours, we had reeled in some decent-sized fish. Satisfied with our catch, we decided to head back to the house to cook our bounty and rest up for another day on the water.

As night descended upon us, things began to take an eerie turn. Sitting around the campfire, we heard strange noises emanating from the nearby woods. Something was moving around out there, but in the darkness, we couldn't discern its form. We shrugged it off, attributing it to local wildlife or fauna, and retired to bed still riding the waves of our excitement. The following day, however, the atmosphere had shifted. It was hard to put my finger on it, but something felt. felt different. The water was choppier, the sky overcast, and an eerie silence seemed to hang over everything. It was as though the world itself was holding its breath. We began fishing,

but I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The water had turned murky and dark, as if it were hiding some dark secret it didn't want to reveal. Nevertheless, we pressed on, hoping to catch something big. That's when everything took a terrifying turn. My friend, Jack suddenly yanked on his fishing line, prompting all of us to rush over to see what he had hooked. But as we peered closer, we were horrified to discover that it wasn't a fish at all. It was a human hand. Panic surged through us, and we quickly reeled in the line, hoping it was just a bizarre fluke. However, as we continued to fish, more and more human remains surfaced, bones, limbs, and even a skull. Fear gripped us, and we knew we had to get out of there and

alert the authorities immediately. But as we attempted to start the boat's engine, in a cliche and horrifying twist, it wouldn't start. We were trapped on the boat with this gruesome discovery, and there seemed to be no way out. Then the nightmare escalated. A figure emerged from the water, slowly making its way toward us. It was a man, or at least it had once been a man, but now he was covered in seaweed and algae, his eyes cold and lifeless. He began climbing onto the boat, and we stumbled back in sheer terror. Desperation and fear overtook us as we fought to defend ourselves. We used our fishing rods and anything we could find to poke and prod the man,

but he was relentless. His movements were unnatural, his attempts to bite us with his sharp broken teeth relentless. It became clear that this was no ordinary man. He was some kind of creature from the depths of the sea. We tried to reason with it, to plead for our lives, but it was too late. The creature was upon us, attempting to tear our flesh with its menacing claws and jagged teeth. It was like a nightmare brought to life, a creature straight out of a horror movie, reminiscent of the creature from the Black Lagoon.

I can't explain how we survived that day, or how we eventually made it back to shore. One of us managed to get the boat's engine started, and we used every ounce of strength and determination to escape the clutches of that monstrous creature. After returning to shore, we secured the boat, locked all the doors and windows, and tried to make sense of the harrowing encounter. Upon further research, we discovered a series of disappearances in the area and reports of encounters with similar creatures from the deep. While some dismiss it as a local urban legend, I know the truth. I know what I experienced, and no one can convince me otherwise. The memory of that terrifying encounter will never fade from my mind. Kayak gets my flight, hotel, and rental car right,

so I can tune out travel advice that's just plain wrong. Bro, Skycoin, way better than points. Never fly during a Scorpio full moon. Just tell the manager you'll sue. Instant room upgrade. Stop taking bad travel advice. Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak, and get your trip right. Kayak, got that right.

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Have your human visit perfect bistro.com. just 16 years old, living in Alabama, and like any typical southern stereotype, I had a deep passion for hunting. Nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened during my hunting trips, but this particular occasion would forever haunt my memories. My dad, a former hunting enthusiast, used to take me with him on our private property when I was just a little boy. However, one day, he abruptly stopped hunting, taking down all the stuffed deer heads and skulls that adorned our home, and even attempting to sell his guns. Fortunately, my mother convinced him to let me have one of the guns, a bolt-action rifle with a thermal scope, once I was deemed responsible enough to handle it.

I couldn't fathom why my dad had suddenly quit hunting, but I would soon discover the reason during the chilling events of my story. My first solo hunting expedition took place when I was around 13 years old. I had previously accompanied my best friend and his dad on hunts, but this time, yearned to venture into the woods alone. My dad's old camouflage treehouse still stood deep within the woods, but my neglect had caused it to deteriorate over the years. Determined to carve my own path, I decided to create a gilly suit, inspired by the camouflage used by military snipers. I had been playing a lot of call of duty, and the idea of becoming a master of concealment fascinated me. A gilly suit consisted of attaching various natural elements, like leaves and grass, to clothing to blend

seamlessly with the surroundings. In the fall season, I scavenged dead leaves and fashioned a gilly suit out of my dad's old hunting clothes. By the time I was 15, my homemade gilly suit had earned me a nickname at school, Bushboy. Excitement surged through me as I envisioned myself aiming my rifle at a magnificent buck, hoping to bring back a worthy trophy. My girlfriend, Mary, although not enthusiastic about hunting, was always curious to see what I brought home for dinner. On the evening of the fateful hunt, I set out around 7.30 p.m. on a Saturday. Little did I know that this decision would lead to a terrifying encounter. Armed with my dad's rifle, a hunting knife, a shovel, a flashlight, and a small first-aid kit, I ventured into the woods.

I face-timed Mary before immersing myself in the hunt. our playful banter filling the pre-hunt ritual. I marked my equipment against a nearby tree with a neon pink ribbon, ensuring I wouldn't lose them if I made a successful kill. I carefully selected a concealed spot, lay down, and readied my rifle, all while maintaining radio silence with Mary. Time crawled by as I waited, my gaze fixed on the woods. After what felt like an eternity, a massive buck emerged from the brush,

around 20 yards away. The creature appeared unusually tall and malnourished, with milky white, blank eyes that sent a shiver down my spine. Rationally, I assumed it was blind, which made it even more crucial to remain motionless, as its heightened sense of hearing could easily detect any slight movement. I aimed my rifle with precision, even though my thermal scope inexplicably failed to pick up the creature's body heat.

The forest had fallen into an eerie silence, amplifying my unease. With bated breath, I pulled the trigger, the gunshot momentarily illuminating the pitch-black surroundings. I waited for the tell-tale thud of the deer dropping to the ground before rising, victorious. However, my excitement was short-lived as I approached the spot where I'd left my equipment. The injured deer, now still, needed to be put out of its misery. As I moved toward it, I made a horrifying discovery. The deer stood on its hind leg.

and its front legs resembled human hands, stained with blood. Frozen in terror, I watched as the creature opened its mouth, revealing sharp, carnivorous teeth. It emitted a ghastly, otherworldly screech that sounded like a blend of a young woman's scream and a mountain lion's roar. The creature transformed, scuttling toward me on all fours like a spider. My survival instinct finally kicked in, and I bolted toward home, leaving behind my father's precious rifle. and gear. The creature pursued me relentlessly, its screech haunting my every step. Through sheer panic, I managed to reach the safety of my house, slamming the door with such force that the entire structure shuddered. Peering out the window, I saw nothing but an empty backyard

bathed in porch light. The knot-deer had vanished, leaving me in a state of profound disbelief. With trembling hands, I meticulously secured every door and window in the house. Exhausted and terrified I stood at the back door only to hear my dad's voice from behind. He asked if I had seen it and I struggled to respond, attributing the encounter to a grizzly bear before retreating to my room, haunted by the memory of that creature. Mary awaited me in my room, offering comfort and concern. Reluctantly, I recounted the night's events, referring to the creature as the not deer. I suspected my gilly suit had saved me, making me nearly invisible to the creature while lying on the ground.

However, I harbored no illusions that I had seen the last of it. The following evening, my parents were out, leaving Mary and me home alone. It was around 9 p.m., and we had just finished dinner, the tranquil sounds of crickets outside serenading us. Abruptly, the world fell into a stifling silence, and all nature's sounds ceased. It was the ominous quiet that I now associated with the not deer. Something stirred, rousing Mary from her slumber, and a rhythmic tapping resonated nearby. The tapping seemed to come from one of the windows facing the woods. Mary and I exchanged nervous glances as we listened, the tapping growing louder.

A voice, eerily resembling Mary's, but devoid of emotion, urged me to come outside. Mary's panicked whisper confirmed it was not her, and I knew, we were in grave danger. My glock in hand, I cautiously approached the window. I glimpsed an antler-like appendage outside, and the tapping intensified. With adrenaline coursing through me, I opened fire, shattering the window, and the creature emitted its horrifying screech once more as it retreated into the woods. Mary and I fled to the attic, where we waited in tense silence until my parents returned at 2 a.m. My mother was understandably furious about the shattered window, but my dad, seemingly understanding, ordered a replacement. Mary returned home, and we avoided

discussing the nightmarish events of those two nights. It had been a year since that terrifying encounter, but I continued to hunt, now equipped with an improved gilly suit. I had retrieved my gear from the woods but always ensured that my targets were ordinary deer with body heat. the creature i had encountered was something far more sinister an ancient spirit condemned to roam the earth thirsting for blood and hiding behind a disguise i had escaped its clutches twice but deep down i knew it would return and i doubted i'd be as fortunate a third time it was a scorching hot summer day and i decided to escape the suffocating city heat by retreating to the tranquillity of the local state park for a day of fishing the thought of casting my line in the cool water and basking in the serenity of nature was too enticing to resist. After packing my fishing gear into the back of my trusty old pickup truck, I embarked on the short drive to the park, filled with eager anticipation. As I arrived at the park, my initial impressions were ordinary enough.

The sun bathed the surroundings in a golden glow, and the gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. However, something immediately caught my attention. There, by the the water's edge stood a small group of people, all appearing to be in their mid-twenties. What made them peculiar were the black robes they wore, each hood obscuring their faces from view. It was an odd sight, but I brushed it off, thinking that perhaps they were engaging in some form of role-playing or a local event. After all, people in the area often immersed themselves in various eccentric hobbies. I continued on my way, heading toward a secluded spot by the water where I intended to cast my line. The fishing was excellent, and the hours passed swiftly as I reeled

in several fish within the first hour. However, every time I looked up from my angling, I couldn't help but notice that the group of hooded figures had moved closer. They seemed to be observing me intently, their intent veiled by the obscurity of their robes. As the day wore on, more and more people arrived at the park, all dressed in the same black robes and hoods. Their numbers swelled, and it became increasingly apparent that their collective focus was fixated on me. An eerie sensation crept over me, and I felt like I was being watched with a scrutiny that

went beyond curiosity. It was unsettling, to say the least. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, the group of hooded figures closed in once more. They formed a circle around me, effectively trapping me in place. In the fading light, I could now discern their faces, and they appeared strange and otherworldly. Their eyes were dark and hollow, and peculiar markings adorned their skin. My heart raced, and panic began to set in as one of them stepped forward, and spoke to me in a low, hissing voice. We've been waiting for you. You're the sacrifice.

I tried to bolt to escape their ominous presence, but they moved with an uncanny swiftness, tripping me up and seizing me. They dragged me deeper into the woods, their voices reverberating in my head like a sinister chant. I was paralyzed by terror and confusion, unable to comprehend the nightmarish situation unfolding around me. Within the dense woods, they had erected a crude altar composed of stones and twigs. They forced me. me onto it and a searing pain shot through my chest as they began to chant in an incomprehensible language. It was as though I was immobilized, trapped by an unseen force that rendered me powerless. Abruptly, the chanting came to a jarring halt. The group of hooded figures glanced up, terror

etched across their faces. A deep guttural growl emanated from the depths of the forest, and my eyes locked onto a pair of eerie glowing eyes lurking in the dark. darkness. Panic spread among the cultists, and they fled, leaving me alone on the makeshift altar. I gazed upward, trembling, and beheld a colossal, nightmarish creature looming over me. Its grotesque fur bristled with an unsettling intensity, and its razor-sharp claws and teeth gleamed menacingly. I realized with a sinking feeling that the cultists had summoned this abomination, intending to sacrifice me to it. The creature peered down at me,

its hot, fetid breath washing over my face. I shut my eyes tightly, resigned to my grim fate. Instead of the anticipated end, I heard a deep, rumbling growl. When I dared to open my eyes once more, the creature had vanished, leaving me bewildered and alone in the desolate woods. Shaken to my core, I staggered back to my car,

my thoughts in turmoil. As I drove away from the state park, a chilling realization washed over me. I had unwittingly stumbled upon a group of people worshipping something far beyond the realm of human understanding. The grotesque creature had likely been their deity, and I had miraculously escaped the intended sacrifice. Why it spared me, I couldn't fathom. The only explanation that lingered in my terrified mind was that it had turned its wrath upon its misguided followers, sparing me from a gruesome fate that defied comprehension. If anyone possesses insights into what I encountered that day,

please, for the sake of my sanity, share your knowledge.